Bike Locks

Unlocked

Here’s the simple truth: Every device meant to safeguard your bike from thieves can be broken. That doesn’t mean anyone is giving up in the quest to create a better lock. Welcome to the new frontier of bicycle security.

THEY'RE TRYING. The lock makers want to win. The people at Knog, an Australian company offering silicone-wrapped U-locks in cheerful colors, say their testing program is engineered to take in data and allow for improvements at every point of the product cycle—from design to prototyping, through manufacturing, and again before the locks are shipped. Knog’s designers factor in customer feedback for the next generation of their products, says chief marketing officer Mike Lelliot.

It’s a testament to faith in ingenuity—or to the power of human self-­delusion—that a business often defined by failure is becoming more crowded­ all the time. Competitors jostle to stand out by imbuing their locks with distinct personalities. Knog’s playful branding—it compares the Bouncer model to a “crazy little designer dog”—belies the products’ security potential; its popular Strongman lock has received superb ratings from several European testing bodies. The locks are designed to be “extensions of our collective personality,” Lelliot says. “They ought to make us happy, like a vintage Faema espresso machine that squeezes out perfect coffees each morning.”

Blackburn boasts a brutal-looking array of U-locks with unique hexagonal shackles designed to resist cutting, each named after a notorious prison—Sing Sing, Leavenworth, San Quentin. The mascot for OnGuard, whose locks bear a strong resemblance to Kryptonite’s, is a snarling, yellow-eyed dog. The trick in these marketing gambits is not only to make a vivid argument to shoppers who might not care to educate themselves on the composition of hardened steel, but also to make a case to potential robbers.

TiGr is the first to use all titanium. Bob Loughlin first began to conceive the lock in the summer of 2009, when he wandered into a rental shop in Sun Valley, Idaho. All the bikes came with a cable lock—but for his personal ride the owner had established five locking stations in different places around the area where he’d left heavy chains. Loughlin returned home thinking, There’s got to be a better way. His past endeavors had made him a full-fledged lock geek; his office shelves are studded with unusual mechanisms—long, finger-shaped devices encrusted with filigree, others that take seven keys to pop. He and John began designing and prototyping a lock made from titanium, a material as strong as steel but half the weight (the largest TiGr model weighs two pounds). Ti had only recently become affordable enough for commercial applications. John started poking around online bike forums for ideas. When they had a prototype, John took it to lock companies, but they felt the TiGr was too different, as he remembers the meetings. “So we said, ‘Screw it, let’s take it right to the crowd.’” The Kickstarter forum provided robust feedback. Commenters asked about pipe attacks and angle-grinder vulnerability, and in response the Loughlins posted­ videos comparing TiGr with a U-lock of undeclared origin. In one, John’s bolt cutters and tin snips only scarred the ti, and when a car jack hit its maximum height the lock was stretched but intact. “The branch that bends doesn’t break,” Loughlin says.

The two often work at home, using a collaborative style John euphemizes as “constructive­ interference.” Bob still calls on his military security contacts for testing, but even after the lock passes rigorous tests, John remains uneasy. “You do the best you can, but you do lie awake waiting for that first e-mail saying, ‘You son of a bitch.’”

TiGr didn’t have a flawless launch. One Kickstarter customer complained the lock didn’t fit around New York City’s fat posts, and others noted it wasn’t a great fit for bulkier mountain bike wheels (the Loughlins have since added new sizes). A recent German video shows a woman cutting through the lock with bolt cutters in five seconds. (The Loughlins responded on Facebook that the snipped lock was TiGr’s smaller, 0.75-inch version; the brawnier, 1.25-inch device has about 67 percent more material and is the only TiGr lock certified by the ART Foundation, an organization that sets standards in the bike-centric Netherlands. The unstated but clear message: If you’re really concerned about security, buy the bigger version.) And the locks come at a premium. The high-end model costs $220—as much as $100 more than top-shelf chains.

Will the TiGr, or any new or existing product, do the job? Probably—in some cities, for a time. “Some thieves out there are very ­brilliant people,” says Rick Schad, creative director of the company that owns OnGuard. “We could say the same of software pirates and ­hackers. They’re innovative. It’s a puzzle.”

Given the perpetual cat-and-mouse game that defines the industry, it seems cyclists can assume one of three attitudes: nihilistic surrender to the inevitability of theft, ­old-school reliance on brawn, or an adventurous ground-floor investment in something new. After watching designers press ahead, I decided to abandon Option One. I threw out my old busted U-lock and will double down on a better, sturdier system—armed with a glimmer of hope and crossed fingers.